


ingenue.

by orphan_account



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Gen, Phanfiction, its more about dan if anything, its really just minor phan, stop him from playing the piano so late pls
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-09
Updated: 2017-04-09
Packaged: 2018-10-16 16:40:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10575303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: it's late. flowers grow between the keys of dan's piano.





	

**Author's Note:**

> lowercase is intended, people.

sometimes dan can’t sleep.

okay, maybe not sometimes. maybe all the time. he always promises himself sleep. always stares into the mirror, makes a fist, and says _tonight will be different. tonight, you’ll sleep._

turns out, making a promise is only half the work.

it’s a wet night in london. gentle drops of rain hit the glass of his window, the sound soothing him to an extent. for spring, it is unusually chilling— global warming, he supposes. the drafts that hide within his room don’t help out with the situation at all, but it really could be worse. the cold isn’t his concern at the moment.

the mundane things are never his concern at night. not even being in total darkness would bother him that much on any given night (however, he prefers having his fairy lights on at the very least). no, his concerns are always what come with the dark: thoughts.

he is an intellectual being. always cynical. always skeptical. never truly taking things for what they are until he’s sure that there’s all there is to them. as great as it is to be so “ahead of his time”, it comes with… problems. looking over at the camera facing a corner, he remembers. he’s made countless of videos about it. hell, it’s even in his brand; he is a victim of the ongoing phenomenon known that is an existential crisis. the uncertainty of one’s true value on the scale of the universe. he has concluded many years ago that there is, in fact, no real reason why humanity exists— or why anything exists, really. there will be nothing to inform our scientists and philosophers why we’re here. nothing to confirm the beliefs of those who think some higher being looking down on us s the creator of all life. a question that an ordinary person would just shrug to, but makes someone like dan ponder even further.

feelings himself already descending into the thick tar that is self dread and hopelessness, dan decides to get out of bed. shaking off the initial feeling of lightheadness, he slowly opens the door of his bedroom, looking at the door just barely a few feet away: phil’s bedroom. the soft shuffle of his feet against the rugged floor fills the emptiness of the hall, and he tilts his ear to listen. it’s very faint, but he can hear it; the soft sound of phil snoring.

shit.

he could wake up phil if he wanted to. he knows that. phil always came into his room when he was troubled, only to eventually fall asleep in the wee hours of the morning wrapped in dan’s duvet. dan had his own fair share, but… phil is snoring. which means hems have been really tired when he went to bed. who is dan to rob him of something as necessary as sleep?

so he walks back into his room, closing the door gently behind him. as he looks around, the whole place seems… unfriendly. despite the soft glow of the lights wrung on his bed, the amber lamp on his nightstand bringing a bit of color in, and the indistinct, gentle patches of street lights hitting the walls, he still feels it’s so… dark. cold. lonely. he even goes as far as to reinforce it, walking over to the blinds and turning them down to block the outside world. the room becomes darker.

he tries reading. he tries browsing the internet. he tries writing video ideas. he tries doodling. he tries pacing. nothing’s helping him.

_what the hell can i do now,_ he thinks, brows furrowing. out of the corner of his eye, though, there is one other thing he hasn’t tried.

the piano.

now, to be clear, he usually doesn’t play the piano during the day, let alone at two in the bloody morning. it’s loud, it’s messy, it’s out of tune— the last straw needed for eviction would be piano playing this late at night. but with nothing else to do and him being desperate to keep his mind busy, he walks to the ancient relic that is his piano.

taking a seat, his eyes wander. the merchandise sits on top of the piano, the wood is cracked all around, and the keys have these marks where his fingers would usually be. he sighs, flexing his fingers before putting them on the keys.

within the first three chords, he already wants to groan.

“you really can’t play anything else, can you?” dan mutters to himself. _‘ingenue’_ has always been his go to song— whether because it’s really the only song people recognize or if it’s the easiest to go with besides _‘mary had a little lamb’_ , it’s a song he always finds himself playing since as early as 2012.

2012\. 2011. 2010. 2009.

the 19th of october, 2009. the day he met phil.

he remembers that day. it’s one of— if not the most— important days of his life. he remembers stepping off that train. how he hugged phil for the first time, unaware about the many times that would follow after.

as he continues to play, a flower blossoms between the keys. a memory.

‘philisnotonfire’. their first real collaboration. the aroma of sharpie fumes fills his senses, as well as the heavy cologne phil had worn that day. he remembers feeling his heart race whenever phil leaned on him, when he laughed, when he suddenly got tackled by phil, and watching the entire thing over again once it had been uploaded. he remembers the feeling of it all. every time he watches it again, nostalgia hits him like a freight train.

more flowers. petals are filling the cracks of his piano. the sound is sweeter, more gentle. his fingers are laced with stems. the more he plays, the more he remembers. his life before phil seems like a dream— something that doesn’t seem to really exist to him. and yet, he knows it does exist; those were agonizing years. he didn’t think he’d survive. but then phil came into the picture, and everything… changed. _he_ changed. because phil, in all his kindness, inspired him to change. they moved in together. they were on a radio show together. they went on tour. they went to so many places, seen so many things, and were within arm’s reach of one another every time. how his life became a beautiful and perfect mess is beyond him. it could have never happened; he wouldn't be here. phil wouldn't be here. he’d be god knows where, unhappy and unsatisfied. and yet it did happen— all this happened. all of this exists. it’s his reason— his motive— to exist.

he plays the last note. by then, his entire piano is covered in flowers. all soft colors; phil’s colors. his colors. _their_ colors. his memories of the world they’ve built together, of the world they share. flowers have grown on his heart, his head, petals covering the floor beneath his feet. he feels warm. he feels… sleepy.

“dan?” he hears a groggy voice say, and he turns his head to face the source. phil is standing there, leaning on the doc frame with drooped eyes. “what’s the matter? still energized from the day?”

“actually,” dan pauses, seeing the flowers blossoming around phil’s feet. for a moment, he closes his eyes to breathe in. once he opens them, the flowers around them are gone, but the feeling and memories they brought are not. and he’s thankful for that. “i’m feeling a bit tired now.”

phil blinks slowly, a small smile making its way onto his features.

“me too.” he says, walking further into dan’s room. “come on, dan. let’s go to bed.”

**Author's Note:**

> phew! my first phanfic! i hope you enjoyed it! if you want, you can follow me on wattpad for exclusive phan content @ https://www.wattpad.com/user/moonbruneaus


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